Lookin' For Luv (8 page)
Authors: Carl Weber
“I’m fine,” she slurred as she slid past him into the apartment. “Mmm, what’s that smell? Incense? I just love incense.”
“No, it’s the strawberry tobacco from my pipe.”
“I didn’t know you smoked,” she said as she took a book from the coffee table. “
Selected Poems of Nikki Giovanni.
I read this. This is good, but you should read
Langston Hughes, Shakespeare in Harlem.”
Selected Poems of Nikki Giovanni.
I read this. This is good, but you should read
Langston Hughes, Shakespeare in Harlem.”
Antoine gave no response but stared at Keisha, amazed at how rude she could be. He also assumed she was lying about the book, and the doubt was evident on his face.
“Bet you didn’t know I love poetry, did you?”
“Keisha, did you come by here for any particular reason? I’m about to go to bed.”
“Go to bed! It’s only nine o‘clock! Why you goin’ to bed so early?” She replaced the book and approached him.
“If it’s any of your business, I have a meeting with the editor of my book tomorrow morning”
“Oh, well, I just came by to see if you wanted that drink,” she said sadly. “But if you’re going to bed, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Antoine breathed a sigh of relief as she left. Had it been any other woman with Keisha’s looks and a different personality, he would have been happy to invite her in for a drink. But he couldn’t seem to get past her aggressiveness to appreciate her. In his estimation there wasn’t anything romantic about a woman so abrasive and straightforward. He preferred his women more refined. Yawning loudly, he put out his pipe, turned out the light, and headed for the bedroom.
Looking at his empty bed, he realized he was pretty lonely. It would have been nice to have someone to cuddle up to in that bed. As his thoughts wandered to the lack of women in his life, it crossed his mind that he had left his poetry on the 900 number line, and he wondered if anyone had responded. He tried to convince himself he was calling only to check for critiques of his work. But as he dialed the phone, he began to fantasize about a beautiful woman falling in love with his poetry and then with him. The first message he heard was as far from that fantasy as could be.
“Hi, my name is Tonya,” a soft, sweet voice said, “and I wanted to thank you for your poem. After I heard it, I wrote it down and sent it to the boy I just broke up with. Now we’re back together, and he’s already promised to take me to the homecoming dance at my high school. Thanks again, and I hope you become real famous somedavy.”
Although it held no prospect of love for himself, Antoine was flattered. “Young lady, you made my day,” he said aloud. “I just hope your parents still let you go to that dance when they get these 900-number calls on their bill.”
The next message began. “Hi, Antoine, my name is Robin. I just listened to your poem and found myself wishing that you were interested in meeting someone for a relationship. Your words just knocked me off my feet, not to mention that sexy voice of yours! I just thought you should know how special you are. I guess I’ll just have to keep searching for a man with your unique qualities. Have a good day now, and stay blessed.”
Antoine listened to Robin’s message a second time. He had to admit Kevin might have been right. Maybe it was possible to meet a quality woman on a date line. If Robin had left a number, he would have been tempted to call her. As the next message began to play, he hoped it was another call like Robin’s. It wasn’t even close.
“Ay Antoine!” hissed an angry female voice. “Who told ya you could write anyway? You sound like a white boy to me. No real black man would ever leave a sissy-ass message like that on a date line. You better take that white shit back to Long Island. Hey, Oreo cookie, check this poem out. Roses are red, violets are blue. Antoine can’t write, and he’s a fool.”
A raucous laugh and then an abrupt dial tone followed the poem. Antoine jumped out of his chair and nearly threw the phone across the room, shouting obscenities into the air until he realized he was still holding the phone and there was a voice on the line.
“To delete this message, press three.” He quickly erased the hateful message, tempted to hang up. But the beautiful, sultry voice on the next message made him glad he hadn’t.
“Hello, Antoine. I hope this message finds you in good spirits. As for me, I’m doing well. Your poem has left me truly inspired and convinced that there are still beautiful souls walking the earth. I have read many poems in my day, but it is rare to find one that moves me like yours did. I know you said that you are not interested in meeting someone, but I’d love to get together with you even if it’s just to hear more of your poetry. If you’re interested, give me a call at home before eleven P.M. My number is 555-7988. Oh, and my name’s Shawna.”
“Shawna,” Antoine repeated aloud as he scribbled her number on the back of the book he was reading. He immediately hung up the phone and dialed her number. As the phone rang, doubt began to creep into his mind.
“I don’t even know this woman, what in the world am I gonna say to her?” Reality had slapped him in the face, but it was too late. Before he had a chance to think again, he heard the sweet sound of Shawna’s voice.
“Hello,” she said for the second time, bringing him back to earth.
“Uh, hi. This is Antoine, is this Shawna?”
“Oh, hi, Antoine. I am so glad you decided to call me back. I was beginning to worry that I wasn’t going to get the privilege of speaking to the talent behind that beautiful poetry.”
Suddenly he felt bold and returned the flattery. “I had to return the call. When a man hears an angel speak, it’s usually in his best interest to answer.”
“Well, well. A poetic genius, and a master sweet-talker.” Shawna was blushing on her end of the phone. “I guess that proves it.”
“Proves what?”
“Proves that you have a woman, because in my experience, men like you are either gay or taken.” She laughed. “You’re not gay, are you? Because I just got finished reading E. Lynn Harris’s book, and he’s got me believing every man out there is a closet homosexual”
“No, I’m not gay, and I’m not taken either. I’ve just been too busy with teaching and writing to meet someone special. But who knows, maybe I’ve found what I’m looking for?”
“Maybe you have,” Shawna flirted. “I like a man who puts the important things ahead of his sexual needs. You’re not the love-‘em-and-leave-’em type, are you?”
“No, not by a long shot.” He hoped she knew he was sincere. “Personally I think that’s a major part of what’s wrong with society today. People spend too much time trying to get laid instead of trying to get to know each other. I could never live like that. For me it’s love first, sex later.”
“God, are you perfect, or what?” Shawna sighed. “Maybe I’m old-fashioned, but I think people are having sex much too soon in relationships. Antoine, can you keep a secret?”
“Sure,” he told her, though he was suddenly nervous.
“I’m a virgin.”
“Really? I think that’s admirable in this day and age. I have to admit I’m impressed. I didn’t think there were any virgins left.” He smiled to himself. He had always fantasized about meeting and marrying a virgin.
“You know, Antoine, I have a good feeling about you. You’re the kind of person I want to be around. Do you think we could get together sometime for coffee? Or maybe I could hear some more of your poetry?”
“Sure. I had hoped you would ask. Why don’t we get together tomorrow, Shawna?”
“I’d love to, but I have to work tomorrow. Maybe you can come see me at the store.”
“What store?” He picked up a pen to write directions.
“Have you been to the African American bookstore in the Gertz Plaza Mall?”
“No, I didn’t even know there was one in that mall.”
“Well, I’m the manager. Why don’t you meet me there about three?”
“Sounds good, Shawna. I’ll bring some more of my poetry.”
“I can’t wait, Antoine. Good night.”
“Good night, Shawna.” He placed the phone back on the receiver and smiled with anticipation. Sitting back in his chair, he lit his pipe again.
He wondered about Shawna’s appearance. Normally he was a man who cared more about a woman’s substance than her looks, but he could not help but wonder if she was as sexy as she sounded. He imagined her as tall and dark-skinned with long, sexy legs. And he hoped that she would have a large, shapely butt that swayed when she walked.
The following afternoon Antoine entered the African American bookstore nervously. He noticed a heavyset woman working at the register, and he assumed she must be Shawna. His nerves didn’t allow him to approach right away, so he smiled at her and then walked through the aisles of books in an attempt to contain his apprehension.
He kept stealing glances over a small bookcase. Though she looked nothing like he had imagined, he still found her attractive. He pretended to be reading a copy of Shakespeare in Harlem as he tried to gather his confidence to speak to Shawna. He laughed to himself as he noticed the thickness of the book.
That Keisha is such a hay. There is no way her hairdressing self read this.
A sense that he was being watched overcame him, and Antoine looked back over the bookcase to see if Shawna was still at the register. She was still there, ringing up a sale, and Antoine decided it was time to put the book on the shelf and introduce himself. As he turned to the shelves, he nearly bumped into a tall, brown-skinned woman. She giggled as they made eye contact. She was taller than Antoine was, so he had to look up slightly to see the woman’s exquisitely made-up face.
“That’s a great book, isn’t it?” She had a sultry voice.
“That’s what I’ve been told,” he answered before recognizing the voice. “Are you Shawna?” He looked at the woman with a big smile. She was so much like the woman he had pictured the night before.
“Yes, I’m Shawna. I had a feeling that was you, Antoine. I know most of our regular male customers. Well, at least the cute ones.” She smiled flirtatiously. “Let me go tell Shirley I’m taking my break, and we can go across the street to the coffee shop.”
Antoine watched her walk to the desk, admiring the sway of her hips.
In the coffee shop the two of them sat in a booth facing a window, drinking lattes. After about fifteen minutes of small talk Antoine brought up the subject of how they met. He was still a little embarrassed that he had resorted to a date line but was in awe that he could meet someone like this.
“You know, Shawna, I have to confess. I’m really surprised that you’re so pretty. I always had the idea that everyone who called date lines is overweight or unattractive.”
“Are you calling my friend Shirley unattractive, Antoine?” Shawna teased. “I saw you looking at her when you walked in.”
“Actually I thought she was cute. But she doesn’t compare to you. So why would a woman who looks like you call a date line anyway?”
“I grew up in Peoria, Illinois, and my parents kept me pretty sheltered. It took me twenty-five years to gather the courage to leave home. I’ve spent the last two years in New York, discovering who I really am. So who had time to be dating?”
“So now you know yourself?”
“Well, let’s say I’m just about there. But that, handsome, is a conversation for another time. My break is over.”
“A woman of mystery.” He smiled. “I like that. Do you think I could see you tonight? There’s so much I want to learn about you, and you haven’t even read my poetry.” He smiled as he lifted his briefcase.
“Oh, Antoine, I really would love to see you tonight, but I have a night job. How about tomorrow?”
“Definitely. There’s a poetry reading tomorrow afternoon in Flushing Meadow Park. Would you be interested?”
“It’s a date. I’ll call you from work tonight to make arrangements.”
Shawna gathered her purse and waited for Antoine, who left a generous tip on the table and walked her back to work. The short break he spent with Shawna had been just enough to pique his interest, and he went into the store to buy a book just to be able to spend a little more time with her. He left the store humming happily.
7
MAURICE
Dawn was freezing as she walked south down 1-95 in Vermont in the frigid night air. Sticking her thumb out as a car sped by, she continued to cry. Tears had been streaming down her face for what seemed like the entire ten miles she had walked.
God! How the fuck could
I
be so stupid to go
all
the way to
Vermont
with
a
man
and
not bring
any
money?
I
be so stupid to go
all
the way to
Vermont
with
a
man
and
not bring
any
money?
She wished she had let Maurice buy her a ski suit instead of a flimsy, short leather jacket. After walking for hours in the subzero wind chill, she truly believed she wouldn’t make it home without some divine intervention. She said a quick prayer through her chattering teeth.
“God, if you can see it in yourself to let me make it home to New York, I promise I will be in the front row of church every Sunday.”
Dawn’s prayers were answered quickly. The next car she saw pulled over to the side of the road. She thanked the Lord aloud as a Vermont state trooper stepped out of his cruiser. Dawn rushed toward the man.
Other books
The Lady and Sons by Paula Deen
The Witch Narratives: Reincarnation by Belinda Vasquez Garcia
Quirks & Kinks by Laurel Ulen Curtis
The Scent of Seduction by Trina Lane
Behind the Walls by Nicola Pierce
Virtues of War by Bennett R. Coles
Twisted Miracles by A. J. Larrieu
Misguided Truths: Part One by Sarah Elizabeth
Tragedy's Gift: Surviving Cancer by Sharp, Kevin, Jeanne Gere
Soft Focus by Jayne Ann Krentz